


Bunk

by shinesurge



Category: Kidd Commander (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, fics is the same
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:19:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinesurge/pseuds/shinesurge
Summary: Ulrich feels bad, Noon is no help.





	Bunk

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place not long after [pages 118-121.](http://kiddcommander.com/?comic=awa-page-118)
> 
> Sort of an alternate version of [this.](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/mostlycanon/works/15950351) I'd had both versions in mind at the time but we hadn't got that far in canon yet.

Still wearing his working glasses, Ulrich sank into his plush blue comforter and rubbed a hand over his mouth, then up, over his eyes. He took a breath, another, one more, not trying to smother any anxiety just. Tired. Faintly sad, he noted with some surprise. He toed off his boots and laid back on the bed, dragging the shutter down over the window and drawing the curtain round his bunk, closed his eyes. He thought of Phineas and briefly wondered if he should be keeping her company, but the idea only idly brushed over his mind; he had no real inclination to move.

Last Chance had been exhausting, one disaster after right after another, but those sorts of days had their better points. No downtime meant Ulrich had no chance to stew over how fucked his situation really was, whatever it happened to be that day (because it was _always_ some flavor of fucked). If that venture had been a sudden violent bout of sickness, Decodenn so far was the uncertainty of feeling indefinitely nauseous. After three days of this, and then the sight of his own bullet jutting from Agatha's cracked face, Ulrich was unpleasantly close to losing his lunch. He didn't have the fortitude to deal with himself and Phineas both. A dull ache of dread was worming around in his belly at the awkwardness that would accompany the gala tonight, but he supposed it didn't matter now how the party went. 

His eyes snapped open. The thought of the gala reminded him suddenly, with the instant clarity and panic of something recalled JUST too late, that he needed to hem in his outfit. He had lost some weight since the last time, he thought, running a thumb absently under his belt. Not much, but enough. He groaned and threw an arm over his face. He was _so_ tired, but he knew the thought of showing up to a formal event in _baggy clothes_ would prevent him from getting any rest. 

"Lucky Noon?" he rasped. It was still so weird talking to thin air. There was an imperceptible _shift_ as a Noon-shaped pocket of air suddenly displaced, then Ulrich felt a weight materialize at the other end of the bed. He sat up to look and they were sitting there cross-legged, Ulrich's Noon with the sharp teeth and the white curls, in an oversized Roulette City t-shirt (the cosmetic decision badly startling Ulrich) and bright pink pajama shorts. They looked as tired as Ulrich felt; he could almost mistake them for human even as their dark tattoos flowered indolently across their skin.

"Hi," Ulrich mumbled, laying back down. Noon nodded. "ach, is there any way you could set up some sort of...a place where I could have a sewing machine? Like a study?" Noon yawned. Ulrich wondered if they really were reflecting him or if they _could_ feel tired. Maybe Phineas was feeling exhausted too. Ulrich tried not to think about the implications of their flying ship needing to take naps.

"Sure, but remember-"

"Yes, yes, I need my own fabric."

"Mm-hmm." They grinned, sharp under their dark, dark eyes. "Unless you'd like everyone to see where you hide all those weapons." 

Ulrich heaved a sigh through his nose, not unlike a dog, and moved to sit himself up against the headboard so he could look at Noon while they chatted. With the curtain pulled and the shade blocking out the sunshine, the little bunk was only lit with the bedroom light that filtered between the gaps in the curtain. It seemed to exist only to highlight the smudges on Ulrich's glasses. He reached up and swiped his magnifying lens out of the way.

"I have plenty of sewing materials already, I only need a machine and a workspace." He said. Noon smiled sleepily, resting their chin on their hand. 

"What would you like? I don't know anything about sewing." Noon's voice buzzed in Ulrich's ears, like they were speaking against his neck. He thought a moment.

"A wide table, with ruled marks. And maybe a groove for cutting long straight lines." He motioned inarticulately with his hand. "Metal layered inside, so you can run the cutter along." 

"Certainly." Noon's smile widened enough to narrow their eyes. "Be greedy darling, there's nothing you'll want that I can't give you."

Ulrich took off his glasses and rubbed his face again, covering his eyes while he spoke. "Ahm, storage, for the...the fabric, big drawers, and some smaller ones for the desktop. To hold pins and scissors and things." he took his hand away and studied it briefly. "A desk." he added.

"A window?" Ulrich shook his head. 

"I...don't like to feel like people can see me working. But lots of light would be nice." He looked sheepish. "Could I, could the room have carpet? And wallpaper? Or at least paint, instead of," Noon giggled like dropped change. 

"You don't like the sawdust? The _rustic chic motif_ of our homespun commander?" 

"I just- I just thought-" Noon shook their head goodnaturedly.

"What's the use if it's not comfortable for you? You think Phineas is going to be spending time enough in there to criticize your decorating?"

"She better not." Ulrich sneered out of habit. He immediately remembered what had just happened downstairs, that Phineas was probably moping alone in the living room, and felt a touch of guilt. 

"Sure," Noon said easily, smoothing over the tension they must have sensed. "We'll come up with something for you." 

"Thank you Noon." Ulrich murmured. One thing taken care of, at least. Lucky Noon hummed thoughtfully and somehow made a statement of continuing to exist in Ulrich's space.

"Are you well?" Ulrich asked, thankful for the excuse to lay there longer. Noon stared hard at him for a moment.

"Are _you?_ "

"I asked first." There was a pause, then Noon folded their arms and sank back against the bunk.

"She _yelled_ at me." They wiggled their feet fitfully under the comforter and Ulrich smiled fondly before he could stop himself. 

"She does that, yes." Noon's expression in response was unreadable, an adjective Ulrich didn't attach to faces often.

"What do you think of all this?" 

Ulrich sighed loudly through his nose while he thought of a diplomatic answer. He realized Lucky Noon with their unreadable face was aware exactly how much he was calculating, and he wondered desperately what they thought of him.

"Phineas is my priority. You, too." Ulrich added hastily. Noon grinned a cheshire grin. "I like Agatha but the...the crew comes first."

"Spoken like a real pirate."

"Spoken like a man who wants to be paid." he said dismissively.

"Do you think Phineas is out to make money?" Oh, wait, he was being interrogated. Ulrich felt his heart lurch as he realized it nearly too late. He sat up and returned Noon's gaze properly, dredging up some reserve of energy for his working face.

When Ulrich was younger, every one of his carousel of caretakers had taken notice of how expressive Ulrich's eyes were. He had never been good at hiding his feelings; his eyes, so big and such a vibrant blue, would go shiny with tears, would draw his thick eyebrows (dark, accented against his hair and skin) down low in a grimace. He won't last a year, they said. Eyes like that should be in the theater, they said, what's he doing here? Every scrap of his neutral composure had been hard won, taking twice the time and effort to master as it took anyone around him.

With this came an obsession with comparing himself to others, which soon warped into a keen awareness of how competent he was, relatively speaking. Natural talent often made for sloppy work; nothing makes one attentive to detail like knowing one doesn't belong. 

So, despite his late realization and his distrust of Lucky Noon in general, Ulrich was positive there was no reason to be nervous yet.

"A figure of speech." he offered.

98 percent positive.

"Mm." Noon purred. "What _do_ you get out of being here then?"

"A soft bed to sleep in," Ulrich said, lacing his fingers over his belly and breaking eye contact with just the right amount of feigned shyness. "And, uh. A sewing machine." 

"Right," Noon responded in perfect time. A stalemate then. Good enough. "a sewing machine. Let's get you set up."


End file.
